


my feelings are true, I really love you

by IneffableDoll



Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [20]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Post-Canon, Romance, Some Humor, but this time it’s very thematically appropriate, more book characterization than show, much ado references again because I will not be stopped, one angel is whipped for one demon thank you and goodnight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: Five times Crowley says “I love you” as a joke, and one time he realizes he actually means it.(Demons can’t love. Or can they…?)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Confessions of Love [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714558
Comments: 31
Kudos: 143
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	my feelings are true, I really love you

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure, this is one of my favorite fics I’ve written. I’m SO pleased with how it came out. This fic is like…a marriage between [Darling, Sugar, Lover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24137596) and [Propaganda](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23519494)  
> , but Aziraphale-POV and a touch more angsty. But still, oh lord, so fluffy in the end. It’ll be worth it, I swear.  
> Title from “You’re My Best Friend” by Queen because…oh my, so many reasons for this fic in particular. Gosh.  
> TW: Extremely mild sorta panic attack. VERY mild and non-graphic.

“Oh, can’t you just feel it?”

Aziraphale beamed at his companion, who was currently shivering like there was a contest for Most Unstable-Looking Londoner. It was late December, and while he himself was carefully bundled up in sensible blue earmuffs, a tartan scarf, and thick woolen mittens, Crowley wore his usual thin layers, his only concession to the season being stylish black gloves and a dark red scarf.

Crowley cocked an eyebrow at him over the dark shades. “Erm, what?”

“The love,” Aziraphale clarified, softly clapping his mittens together in delight. “There’s so much love in the air, it’s nearly overwhelming.”

They were currently passing through an outdoor holiday market on their walk to the bakery a few streets over – run by that sweet boy, Richard, he ought to remember to ask how his daughter is liking college so far when they popped by – and Crowley had oh-so-kindly offered to accompany him.

Well. There may have been a fair amount of cajoling and grumbling. But he had agreed, so Aziraphale considered that a win.

“I forget you can sense that kind of thing,” Crowley commented, gazing about at the happy holiday shoppers with something like fascination on his face. “Love, I mean. What does it feel like, anyway?”

“Don’t you – er.” Aziraphale coughed, realizing that asking if Crowley remembered how it felt to sense love would be an incredibly impertinent query. “Well, it feels very warm and bright, like an embrace. Intoxicating, almost. Humans emit such great quantities of it at places like this, with all the homemade bibelots and tchotchkes, and there’s so many of them, and it’s all interlacing within itself…” He trailed off, glancing about fondly as the feeling swelled around him.

Crowley huffed in irritation, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips that he probably thought the scarf hid. “Come on, angel, let’s get your pastries before you get drunk on love,” he said, grasping Aziraphale’s elbow and pulling him along.

Aziraphale trotted after with a huff, relishing in the small contact and deciding on pure, possibly-a-bit-love-drunk instinct to link his arm around Crowley’s. He shot Aziraphale a questioning glance. “We used to do this in the 19th century, do you remember?” 

He shrugged lightly, leaning into the heat of Aziraphale’s side. “I slept through most of that one, but I guess we did a couple of times.”

“Yes, it was before your nap, around the time my bookshop opened.” Aziraphale peeked back at the market, feeling the high dissipate as they drew farther away. “Ah, I’m sorry about that, back there. I sometimes forget that you can’t…well…”

“Can’t love?” Crowley shrugged again. “It’s not a big deal.”

Aziraphale grimaced before he could hide it. “I meant that you couldn’t sense it.”

“Well, that too.”

“Right.”

“Something wrong?”

“No, of course not. Ah, here we are.”

They entered the bakery, a blast of warm air greeting their chilled, pink cheeks as they shed gloves and Aziraphale his earmuffs. He looked about the place with shining eyes, relaxing in the cozy bakery, trying to ground himself. Soft, instrumental Christmas music played over the speakers and a fire roared at the end of the room – the two armchairs by it, by complete and utter coincidence, free for the sitting for two supernatural entities.

By the time Aziraphale ordered, Crowley had flopped into one of the chairs, skinny legs flung over one side and upper back propped against the other. He looked like he was melting into the cushions, relief etched across his face, likely from the heat of the fireplace. The poor thing ran cold, and Aziraphale felt a bit bad for dragging him out into it.

As an apology, Aziraphale offered the cup he had in tow to his friend, dropping his own treats on the side table by the chair opposite Crowley. “Four shots,” Aziraphale noted with a satisfied smile. “And not to worry, I double-checked to ensure they made it up extra hot.”

“Someone,” Crowley intoned as he accepted the blisteringly-hot coffee with both hands, “I swear, I’d fall in love with you if I could, angel, seriously. Thanks.”

Aziraphale choked on nothing. “Erm. Quite,” he croaked. Swallowing thickly, he settled into his own chair and busied himself with his goodies.

Crowley cocked his head. “You okay?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath to center himself. He was usually better at this, but the blatant reminders that Crowley couldn’t – well, it didn’t matter. He was just a bit sensitive from the market, but he ought to be used to it by now, after all these years. “Yes, of course. I’m just fine,” he replied evenly. “Now, what was it you were saying earlier about, erm, something with fruit phones?”

“Oh, right!” Crowley launched into his detailed plan to do something regarding phones made of apples – or _by_ apples? Aziraphale couldn’t quite tell – the prior conversation having had no apparent effect on him.

Aziraphale smiled and laughed in all the right places, and pretended it didn’t affect him, either.

~

Aziraphale wasn’t sulking, alright? It had just been a long and tiring day and he was taking a well-deserved rest. There had been so many holiday shoppers coming and going, to and fro, traipsing through his beloved bookshop as though they had _any right_ – oh, it was utterly insufferable. He’d even had to sell his fourth favorite copy of _A Christmas Carol_ by Charles Dickens!

The point being that this wasn’t sulking, this was simply _reposing,_ because Aziraphale was an angel and good angels would never sulk. Of course.

He was on his fourth cup of tea, still staring at the same page of…something, he couldn’t remember what, when the telephone rang. He sighed, worn through, but answered into the mouthpiece all the same. “We are most certainly closed for the evening-“

_“Oi, angel! Come outside!”_

“What? Crowley, is that you?”

_“Of course, it is; who the hell else calls you?”_ Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond that many people did, actually – usually booksellers and fellow antique connoisseurs – but Crowley continued, heedless. _“Anyway, come out here, I wanna show you something.”_

“Are you – hold on, one moment.” Aziraphale placed the delicate receiver back on the hook switch and hurried to his front door. Peeking through the glass, he saw the Bentley sitting out front, blocking the road, with a redhaired demon waving from the driver’s seat. When he saw him, Crowley honked the Bentley’s horn and waved again.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, stuffing away his fond smile as he opened the door. “Whatever are you doing?” Aziraphale asked, trying to sound disapproving as he approached the car. “You’re obstructing traffic, dear boy!”

“Hop in, angel, I’m taking you out to dinner,” Crowley declared with a broad wave of the arm.

“Whatever for?”

“New Years Eve. Found a place that’s open late. Thought it’d be fun!”

Aziraphale blinked as a pleased smile broke over his face, unfettered and with no hope of doing anything otherwise. “Oh. Oh, goodness, that sounds perfectly lovely. Allow me to grab my coat!”

Twenty minutes later found the two seated in a quaint Italian restaurant. The atmosphere was positively charming, with dimmed lights overhead and candles flickering on the table, sweet violin playing in the background. The décor had an upscale, yet slightly homemade feeling to it that made the entire restaurant cozy.

“Why, this is just darling, Crowley,” Aziraphale commented as he took up the menu, scanning the appetizers. “Thank you for arranging this. It’s very sweet.”

Crowley scoffed. “Not sweet. Just, ya know…” He waved a hand in the air. “Thought it’d be a nice way to pass the time. Nothing else going on.”

Before Aziraphale could reply, the waitress came by for their orders. After he told her his detailed list of appetizers and entrees and what have you, she nodded, still scribbling on her notepad. “And for your husband?” she asked, turning to Crowley.

Aziraphale choked on nothing. This was happening too often, lately. Distantly, he heard Crowley calmly replying with his order and the waitress walking away. Aziraphale reminded himself to breathe and act like a normal person.

_Husband._

“Isn’t it funny?” Crowley asked when she was gone.

“W-What is?”

“How they assume that we’re married, or at least together.” He looked around and shrugged. “Though, to be fair, can you blame her? It _is_ pretty romantic in here, and we are a table for two. The candles, the music.”

Aziraphale decided he needed to have a word with whoever invented choking on air, because honestly, thrice in two days was overmuch. “W-Well…”

“I mean, seriously,” he continued, as though Aziraphale wasn’t possibly on the verge of dying right then and there. “Feels like I should sing a sonnet or – or quote something. ‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?’” Crowley laughed, shifting in his chair to sling a leg over one of the armrests. “Say, we should see if _Much Ado_ is coming to the Globe anytime soon. It’s been ages.”

Aziraphale nodded, probably too quickly. “Y-Yes, that’s. Erm. Quite. Let’s.”

Crowley lifted an eyebrow at him. “Not going to insist on _Hamlet_? Or bloody _Macbeth?”_

“No, not tonight, my dear,” he replied. “You’re right that it’s been much too long since we watched that one together.” Aziraphale didn’t mention that the major appeal of Shakespeare’s comedies, over the past four centuries, had largely been hearing Crowley’s laughter while watching them.

But he had a lot of practice not saying that, so it was really nothing new.

By the time they left the restaurant, it was late, but still an hour or two until midnight. The streets were crowded with merry individuals and Aziraphale smiled at the love that lingered among the crowds – not so intense as that market, but nonetheless remarkable. The human capacity for love was neverendingly staggering and he breathed in deep the cool air, appreciating the warmth of _feeling._

Aziraphale glanced aside to see Crowley gazing up at the dark, endless sky, not a star to be seen through the city lights.

“It’s a shame we can’t see them here,” Aziraphale commented.

Crowley tore his eyes away. Though the demon wore his blasted sunglasses, their eye contact felt fraught – or perhaps that was simply Aziraphale, whose heart had been caught in his throat all evening.

“You have stars in your eyes, you know,” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale waited for the tease, for the smirk to surface, but it didn’t come. “O-Oh,” was all he could muster.

Crowley clapped his hands together. “Right!” He headed toward the Bentley. “Let’s get you home before people start making out in the streets!”

Goodness. That brought Crowley-adjacent images to the angel’s mind that were best left aside for, erm, later consideration. Or possibly never. Yes, never, that sounded ideal.

They drank the new year in together in the privacy of the bookshop, hoping for a bright future in which their Head Offices would truly leave them alone. “To freedom,” Crowley said, holding his glass out to the angel, eyes bright even from behind the shades.

Aziraphale studied his friend for a moment. He was relaxed as he so rarely used to be, bearing a lopsided smile and slouching on the sofa with the ease of safety. The angel’s melancholy faded just a touch at the pleasant sight. If Crowley was happy, then really, what could he have to complain about?

“To freedom, my dear.”

_Clink._

~

While walking together in St. James after feeding the ducks, Crowley slipped on a patch of black ice. Just in time, Aziraphale reached out and caught his arm, pulling him upright effortlessly.

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley said, brushing off his coat and checking his hair to make sure it wasn’t mussed.

“Of course. We wouldn’t want you hurting yourself so early in the season. Or at all, of course.”

Crowley’s eyes twinkled as he smirked at him. “Be careful. Looks like I’m _falling_ for you!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the ice. When Aziraphale met him with a blank look, he added, “Get it? Falling, like in love, ‘cause I-“

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale broke in, a small and sad smile on his lips. “I get it.”

~

“Angel. You’ve got to be kidding me.” Crowley motioned wildly at the fifty-seven snuffboxes gathered at and around Aziraphale’s desk, where the angel sat dusting and shining them one-by-one. “Why on Earth do you still have all those?”

“There’s no need for that tone, Crowley.” Aziraphale pouted. “You know any proper gentleman takes decent care of his snuffbox.”

“You don’t even _like_ tobacco!”

“While that may be true-“

“You’re ridiculous,” Crowley interrupted, folding his arms. A teasing smile broke out on his face. “I really _must_ love you if I put up with you and your Satan blessed _snuffbox collection.”_

Aziraphale clutched his current piece so hard it started to dent under his fingertips. He offered a wobbly smile. “I assumed it was for the wine, actually.”

Crowley snapped at him. “Good point. Speaking of, nightcap?”

~

“Aziraphale.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t _‘hmm’_ me. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re up to.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “Whatever are you referring to?”

Crowley gazed pointedly to the little platter between them on Crowley’s black sofa, where they’d split a container of overpriced chocolates at the start of the cinematographic filmography show (“That is not what they’re ca- oh, nevermind.”) Crowley had insisted on showing him that evening. Aziraphale’s pile of sweets had started out much larger, since he was more of an enthusiast than Crowley, but those had disappeared an hour into the film.

“My pile has been getting smaller and smaller and I’ve only eaten _three,”_ Crowley pointed out.

Aziraphale tried to suppress a grin. “Now, that’s just absurd. Do you really think that – what, little elves are stealing your chocolates?”

Crowley leaned across the sofa, crossing his arms, his chin but a hair’s breadth from Aziraphale’s shoulder. “No, I think _you’re_ stealing my chocolates, and you’re not even sorry about it.”

“No need to go pointing blame-“

“You’re a thief.”

“I’m an angel-“

“And a thief. First the chocolates, what next? My houseplants, my keys?” He paused, seemingly for effect. “My…heart?”

Aziraphale gaped at him and Crowley fell into a fit of laughter so genuine and full of so much joy that even as an old, old pang warred for Aziraphale’s attention, he couldn’t help but giggle along.

He also stole another chocolate while Crowley was distracted, knowing full well that he was not the only thief on this couch.

~

It was the middle of the night some weeks into the new year, and Aziraphale was reading Jane Austen. It was probably a terrible idea considering all the romances abounding, but his heart was so full of yearning lately that he needed an outlet for it.

Aziraphale had spent millennia living alongside this truth. He loved a being who could not love him back. That was simply how it was. He wasn’t upset with Crowley about it, of course; the poor demon had no clue what he was putting Aziraphale through with his teasing. It wasn’t fair to harbor any ill feelings about the situation.

Besides, the act of loving itself was a beautiful thing, and he did so enjoy it, especially in the past few months when there was more freedom to be found in their existence than ever before. No more hiding. Well, from Head Office, at least. Aziraphale was definitely still hiding from Crowley in some ways. For the sake of their friendship, it would have to stay that way. He was sure Crowley would be kind about it, if he knew, but that was just it – the poor thing would probably feel guilty that he couldn’t love back. That was the kind of wonderful, thoughtful, good-hearted being the love of his life was.

Aziraphale was interrupted roughly halfway thorough what was maybe his fiftieth reread of _Pride & Prejudice_ by a frantic knocking at the door, causing him to startle and spill a bit of tea on his shirt. He frowned at it and it decided it preferred to be elsewhere.

The knocking continued as Aziraphale stood up, but before he could take more than a couple of steps, the door simply burst open of its own accord, and, amid the blast of cold winter air, Crowley stalked into the bookshop. Rather than the usual, confident swagger, he looked dejected and confused, sunglasses nowhere to be seen.

“Dear?” Aziraphale said, blindly setting his book on the chair where he’d been sitting. “Are you – what’s going on? Are you alright? Are you being chased? Is it Hell?”

Crowley didn’t answer and continued walking until he stood directly in front of Aziraphale, centimeters betwixt their noses. The door swung shut by itself and the room settled.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked into the silence, fingers twisting together anxiously.

“Aziraphale. Angel,” Crowley said insistently, suddenly clutching Aziraphale’s upper arms with his spindly fingers. “Tell me again. What does love feel like?”

Aziraphale blinked. They were awfully close, and it was distracting him. Further, the question itself threw him briefly as he recollected what the demon was referring to. “Uh, well – it. It’s a good feeling, like heat and comfort. Being wrapped in a blanket, or in someone’s arms and knowing you’re safe.”

Crowley nodded, biting his lip. Sans sunglasses, Aziraphale could see every abstract emotion playing out on Crowley’s face, and how wide and genuine those beautiful, yellow eyes were.

And suddenly, with no warning, the demon pulled the angel’s body against his chest and-

And-

Hugged him.

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale squeaked.

“Hug me back,” he replied urgently.

“Erm.” Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands. He ended up wrapping them carefully around the demon’s waist, fingers pressing hesitantly into the small of his lower back.

They hugged.

“Tell me, angel,” Crowley breathed against Aziraphale’s curls, “do you feel safe right now?”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley a little tighter, lifting his hands to where Crowley’s gorgeous wings might emerge – just between the shoulder blades. He dared not breathe himself. His broad stomach pressed lightly against Crowley’s, and Crowley’s cheek was soft and warm against his temple. It felt sinful and innocent. Wicked, and utterly, breathtakingly divine. “Y-Yes,” he managed.

Crowley let out a loud breath, deflating against Aziraphale’s body like he trusted the angel to hold him up. Aziraphale wrapped his arms firmly around the skinny demon, content – more than – to be Crowley’s anchor to the world. Crowley lowered his face to Aziraphale’s neck and took a deep breath. The exhale tickled a bit.

“I think I’m an idiot,” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s neck a few moments later.

Aziraphale made a sound that hopefully came across as inquisitive.

“I just – I don’t know.” His next words were muffled against Aziraphale’s skin. “I don’t wanna get this wrong.”

Aziraphale mindfully and sternly told himself not to draw premature conclusions. He was probably misinterpreting all of this and Crowley was about to just – just make another joke. Yes, that’s what this was, obviously. Just a silly demonic gambit. “What is it?” he murmured back.

Crowley sighed. “’S really stupid, and I’m sure I’ve got this off the mark, somehow, but…”

“But…?”

“I think…I might _actually_ be in love with you?”

Aziraphale froze and didn’t dare make a sound.

A beat passed.

Then another.

“Told you it was stupid,” Crowley muttered, pulling away.

Aziraphale’s body reacted instinctively, strengthening his grasp and not allowing the demon to move out of the circle of his arms. Crowley – oh Mother Above, his face was right there, and he was-

He said-

_“Crowley,”_ Aziraphale whispered, and his voice broke.

“Aziraphale…?” Crowley seemed stunned as tears rolled down Aziraphale’s cheeks. He moved a hand as though to thumb them away but paused, fingers hovering close enough to feel the heat of them over his skin.

“I – I…” Aziraphale’s throat felt so thick and clogged and his heart was beating faster than usual. He hated so much when his corporation did this, but he could never seem to control it. It was like all the stresses and sorrows of the world built up in his body and caused him to crash all at once when he was least able to bear it.

Crowley looked utterly helpless, golden eyes scouring Aziraphale’s face for understanding and finding naught for his search. “I’m so sorry,” he kept saying. “I didn’t mean to – I don’t – what is _happening,_ angel?”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to hide against the other’s neck, reveling in the intimacy and the privacy of it, the hold as Crowley gave in and pulled Aziraphale close to him, running soothing hands across his back.

Some minutes passed in this way, Crowley muttering soothing nothings and apologies as Aziraphale, with no will to resist, simply cried.

When the sniffling finally stopped and Aziraphale felt more in control, Crowley paused the movements of his hands and whispered, sounding none too stable himself, “Angel, can you tell me…what I did wrong?”

Aziraphale’s heart clanged at the words, at the sound of his voice, scratchy and so uncertain. It was not something he heard often, possibly ever. The angel screwed his courage to the sticking place and pulled away to face his demon, though his lip trembled. Eyebrows drawn in, he forced a pathetic smile. “Nothing at all, nothing. I do apologize, my dear.”

Crowley shook his head. “Just tell me.”

“Well. It’s just that…” Aziraphale took a deep breath as another wave threatened him, and he blinked it back. He could do this. It was fine. “I’ve loved you for a very long time. And even if you didn’t mean it, it was nice to believe for a moment…”

The poor demon gaped like a fish, blinking slowly. “You _what?”_ he whispered.

“I love you quite a lot, I’m afraid. In most every way a being can.”

Crowley let out a soft whine, grimacing, and pulled at Aziraphale’s shoulders until their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling. “Gosh,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Aziraphale said sadly, head reeling from all the contact, the conversation, the heady emotions swirling. It was too much, not even close to enough. “I know it was silly of me, but I couldn’t help it…”

Crowley made another sound, even more broken. “Aziraphale,” he rasped. His grasp tightened almost painfully. “I swear to God, to Satan, to literally whoever – if it’s possible for demons to love, I do. I honestly don’t know what else this could be.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “Demons can’t…”

“I know. I know that.”

“Well…what does it feel like?”

Crowley looked at him with such wide, pleading eyes that Aziraphale wanted to protect him from the entire world forever, to tuck him away in the back room of the bookshop and never let anyone cause such a mixed-up expression to pass his face again. He wanted to never, ever let go.

“It feels like…like wanting,” Crowley said after a moment. “Not needing. I could survive in the cold, but with you, there’s warmth, and that’s better than the cold. It’s always better with you.” His eyes flitted away, then back, his face red. “Does that make any sense?”

Aziraphale was very sure he was going to cry again soon. A hopeful smile spread across his lips as the stress eased out of his face, and the internal mantra reminding himself not to hope went suddenly, deafeningly quiet. “Crowley…it makes a lot of sense. That’s…well, just how I feel about you.”

“Then…is it love? _Can_ I love?”

Aziraphale answered honestly. “I don’t know, my dear. But…I’d like to believe so.”

Crowley finally, finally, smiled, something fragile and soft, not at all befitting the callous demon he made himself out to be. “Oh,” he said, his grin growing ever broader. “I-I do, too.”

“Can I kiss you?” Aziraphale blurted. Heat flared up in his face at the brazen outburst as he backtracked, mortified. “I-I mean, we don’t have to of, course, I was only just – it’s only I’ve wanted to for so long, and I-“

Crowley laughed aloud – a full-body laugh that Aziraphale’s could feel in every point of contact between their bodies, thrumming through his own like an echo of his happiness. “There you are,” the demon said fondly – _lovingly –_ holding Aziraphale’s face in his hands at last. “Come ‘ere.”

Crowley’s lips caught his, and it was everything.

When they broke apart, breathing heavily as though they’d done more than a chaste peck, Crowley smiled almost childlike, simple and pure. “Can you feel it?” he asked between breaths.

Aziraphale smiled back helplessly, unable and unwilling to do anything else. He couldn’t feel the love in the space, he couldn’t feel it vibrating in his skin, he couldn’t feel it pressing around him like a scent, like the very air itself.

But he felt the warmth, and the safety.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. “I can.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the entire ending scene just helplessly muttering swear words under my breath, unsure if I would survive to the end with how cute they insisted on being with each other. I’m amazed I live to tell the tale, honestly.  
> Also, yeah, I left it ambiguous as to why Aziraphale can’t sense Crowley’s love. I have my own thoughts, and there are plenty of fics that explore this, even in ones I’ve written myself. However, I didn’t think that was the answer they needed today, so I chose to leave it up to interpretation.  
> I hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for reading!


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